The Real Supernatural Investigators
by Rose Riley
Summary: Angel sneaks off to attend a convention for his favorite book series: Supernatural. Supernatural, Angel crossover. One-shot.


Summary: Angel sneaks off to attend a convention of his favorite book series: Supernatural.

Supernatural, Angel crossover.

Spoiler warning for Supernatural and Angel.

To note: Takes place during season five of Angel (don't worry about the year differences… just go with it). Angel finds out the first ever Supernatural convention (seen in the Supernatural episode "The Real Ghostbusters") is scheduled and sneaks off to attend. Takes place (spoilers) after Spike becomes corporeal, but before Fred is taken over by Illyria.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Angel. You are very lucky for that fact.

The Real… Well, Supernatural Investigators is More Accurate….

Rose Riley

_Dear Lord_, he thought, glancing around. He was utterly paranoid someone was watching him. That someone was following him. _I will never live it down if they catch me doing… this._

Angel, formerly-the-malevolent-vampire-Angelus-turned-puppy-dog-goody-goody-by-a-gypsy-curse, took one last glance about before gripping the car door and pushing it open. He couldn't help smiling at his choice of car: a 1967 Chevy Impala. Really, there was no other choice in the matter.

Looking to his side, he noticed a striking similarity between his car and the one beside it. And the one beside that. And the one beside that. Okay, so maybe his idea wasn't as original as he'd initially thought. Apparently he wasn't the only die-hard fan. He probably should have guessed. After all, this _was_ a _Supernatural_ convention. Of course it would attract all of the most devoted fans.

Checking his pocket to make sure he had his keys, he nodded contently before heading toward Pineview Hotel. For the first time since he began working for Wolfram and Hart, he was actually thankful for the association. It had been so easy to claim "business trip." No one even questioned it. Nor did anyone wonder why he needed the firm to acquire a '67 Impala. Of course, Fred and Gunn offered assistance on the case. But Angel told both he could easily handle it on his own. That he merely wanted to _investigate_. Too easy.

Of course, being a vampire meant he had to make a few sacrifices. After all, he couldn't risk being toasted by some lovely UV rays. So he had to come unbearably early. In fact, he was actually surprised there were already other cars in the lot. Looking up at the cloudy sky, he quickened his pace toward the door. He intended to go in before sunrise and leave after sunset. It was winter, after all, so at least it meant less daylight.

He was still a bit irked about his terrible luck. Things would have been so much easier if he had been able to rent a room at the Pineview Hotel. But of course, he had learned of the convention just a few hours too late. The last room had already been booked by the time he called. Typical. That was what backup plans were for.

Pushing open on of the thick, dark brown wooden double doors, he stepped into the lobby, grinning his as-close-as-a-brooding-vampire-can-get-to-a-smile grin. It was so early, and yet he could already recognize faces: Bobbys, Deans, Sams, Ashs, even a scarecrow! Definitely the works. Hell, there was even a kiosk selling _Supernatural_ merchandise! Looking down at his suit, he felt terribly underdressed. It was his first con, after all. He hadn't even considered dressing up. Glancing around the room, he noticed another slight roadblock.

Quickly, he made his way to the large, open windows, pulling the blinds closed. As already mentioned, he really did not want to be burnt alive. Scanning the room, he found the front desk. A clerk sat, looking around the room dully.

"Excuse me," Angel greeted, standing before the desk.

The clerk looked up, rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Um, I'm allergic to UV rays. It's really bad. Makes me break out in hives. Could you put some signs or something near the windows to stop people from opening them? I'd really not like to risk it. If you know what I mean."

The clerk stared at him.

Angel twiddled his thumbs and glanced around.

The clerk continued to stare.

"So… uh… we good?" Angel asked, considering whether it would be more painful to continue his conversation or to be burned alive.

"My shift ends in three minutes," the clerk finally said. As he spoke, another man in a concierge outfit entered through the double doors. "I'm outtie."

The new concierge stepped behind the desk as the old clerk left, typing some information into the computer before turning his attention to Angel. This new man had a shaved head and a black suit.

"May I help you," he asked. He clearly did not want to be working on the day of a convention.

"Uh, yeah," Angel said, suddenly uncomfortable again. "I'm allergic to UV rays. Give me hives and stuff."

"That makes sense. You are unusually pale."

"Uh… right. Anyway, do you mind putting a sign by the windows so no one opens the blinds?"

He nodded, typing something into the computer.

"Yes, sir," he said. His eyebrows scrunched as he read something from his computer screen. "How strange. One of our guests made the same request. A Mr. Bloody. What a small world."

_Bloody… As in… William the Bloody?_

_Oh Hell NO!_

"Yes," he heard behind him. "A bloody small world it is."

The annoying British accent, the blatant sarcasm….

"Spike!" Angel growled, turning toward his bleach-blond companion. As usual, Spike wore his black leather jacket and some form of gothic attire. Around his neck dangled a familiar necklace.

"Well, look what we've got here," Spike muttered, examining Angel. "Thought I was misusing funds? Had to come check up on me? I'd have thought you'd be bloody thrilled to get me out of LA for a few days!"

_He doesn't know…._

Angel scoffed. "You up and leave randomly? I thought you were up to something."

"Well fine! You caught me! I read books! What are you going to do about it, Nancy-boy?"

"Well," Angel said, trying to sound pained. "The sun's coming up. We might as well stay for this… what is it? A convention. I suppose there is nothing else we can do."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Brilliant. I'm stuck with the bloody fun-killer all day. What a wonderful vacation."

"Well, if you'd have been honest, we wouldn't be in this mess," Angel lied as they walked toward the bar. After all, he was still a bit bitter. The moment he saw Spike, he instantly knew _he_ was the one who booked the last room. Even unknowingly, Spike always managed to make his life more difficult.

"Oh, sure. I got to tell everyone my business. Can't even go out of town without the head of Wolfram and Hart following me. How unfair. I finally become corporeal and I still don't have any bloody freedom."

"That's because I'm horrible and trying to ruin your life."

"I knew it!"

They ordered a couple of beers and proceeded to drink while waiting for more fans to file in.

"Bloody hell," Spike suddenly said after finishing his third beer. "Look at this! They call themselves fans! Can't even get the costumes right."

Angel laughed, relaxing as a downed another sip. It was true. Some of the costumes were ridiculous. "Look at the guy trying to be Ash! Couldn't he have gotten a slightly more realistic mullet?"

Slowly, Spike turned to look at Angel.

"You're a fan?" He said more as an observation. His eyes changed for annoyance to amusement. "You're a bloody fan!"

"Pot calling the kettle black," Angel replied, taking another sip of his beer. He resisted the urge to slap himself for slipping up.

"Oh my God," Spike suddenly squealed, his voice up an octave. Quickly realizing his mistake in demeanor, he immediately regained his cool and snorted. "Lookie what we've got here. Guess Carver Edlund decided showed up."

Angel put down his beer. "Who are those guys next to him?"

"Bloody LARPers I'd guess."

"What's a LARPer?"

"This must be your first convention."

"If they're supposed to be Sam and Dean… well, they aren't what I expected."

"I thought there'd be more scars."

"And muscles. Flowing hair like on the covers."

"Damn LARPers."

"Come on," Angel said, taking one last sip of his drink and placing it back on the counter. "Let's go to the hall. Find some seats before it's full up."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. He was clearly thinking the same thing.

The two made their way through the double doors into the main hall. Based on the schedule Angel had read, he knew this was where the Q and A's were taking place. In synchronism, both vampires paused when the found the room crowded with people, not a free seat left. Glancing at each other, they made their way behind the rows of chairs and stood in the back, toward a shadowy corner where they couldn't be seen.

Angel could barely contain his excitement, but tried to maintain an aloof, bored expression as to not give away his love for the series. Spike seemed to be taking the same approach when Angel glanced over. His eyes fell on the necklace around Spike's neck, and he finally remembered where he recognized it from, having seen it around all day.

"You're wearing Dean's pendant," Angel said quietly.

Spike rolled his eyes. "So what? That you know it makes you just as much of a bloody looser as me."

"I'm not wearing a necklace."

"I intend to beat you to death after the convention."

"Like you could."

"Oh, I can, Nancy-boy. With a spoon, mind you. That's right. I'm going to beat you with a bloody spoon! That's how much I sodding hate you!"

"You need to learn to control your temper."

"You need to learn to shut your sodding mouth. It's going to get you killed one day. With a bloody spoon."

"I'm sure."

"Shut up. It's starting."

On the center of the stage, the hotel owner stood, greeting the devoted SPN fans. Behind him, a pentagram backdrop with the words "Supernatural Convention" scrawled through the center stood out prominently against dark blue curtains.

"Welcome to the first annual _Supernatural_ convention. At three-forty-five in the Magnolia room, we have the panel 'Frightened Little Boy: the Secret Life of Dean.' And at four-thirty, there's 'The Homoerotic Subtext of _Supernatural_.' Oh, and of course, the 'Big Hunt' starts at seven p.m. sharp!"

A large, enthusiastic applause sounded from the audience. Angel and Spike attempted to hide their interest behind bored faces and eyerolls. On the inside, however, Angel was looking forward to both panels eagerly, hoping he could subtly maneuver his way into going without Spike's mocking. He had always thought there was a certain subtext to the novels….

"But right now, I'd like to introduce the man himself: the creator and the writer of the _Supernatural_ books. The one, the only: Carver Edlund!"

As if in synchrony, Carver Edlund awkwardly stepped toward the microphone in the center of the stage. Edlund gazed around the audience—his line of vision falling nervously on the LARPers he'd brought with him—before speaking a few uncomfortable phrases and chugging down a bottle of water.

Angel listened keenly as audience members asked questions. Edlund answered them shortly, somewhat stunned for words when "the Hook Man" questioned the logic of his characters. Glimpsing at movement in the corner of his eye, he noticed the LARPers exchanging glances.

Finally, someone asked the question Angel had been wondering for a long time.

"Yeah, at the end of the last book, Dean goes to Hell… so… what happens next?"

Carver inhaled nervously on the stage, his eyes wandering back to the LARPers as he spoke.

"Oh, well there lies an announcement, actually. Um. You're all going to find out. Um. Thanks to a wealthy Scandinavian investor, we're going to start publishing again."

The reaction of the crowd was enough for Angel. After all, had his heart the ability to beat, his would have been pounding in his chest. Glancing over at Spike, he noticed the blond vampire's eyebrows quirked, a smile playing on his lips. Clearly, his unwanted companion was also thrilled by the news.

The Q and A ended quickly after the commotion, everyone settling to discuss the exciting news. Unsurprisingly, Angel and Spike found their way back to the bar, engaging in another round of beers.

"So…" Angel finally said, nearing the end of his first drink. "They're publishing again."

Spike grunted, nearing the middle of his second beer. "So they are."

Unlike everyone else, neither of the vampires seemed to have any interest when the "Big Hunt" started. While everyone else bustled around, trying to gather information, they continued their third round of beers.

Finally, Angel checked his cell phone for the time, noticing with some relief that it was past seven p.m. His private jet would leave at nine for LA. Then, he could go back to hiding his love for the _Supernatural_ series, waiting restlessly for the next book to be released. He just hoped it wouldn't be about vampires again. Edlund may have done a lot right, but it was awkward for Angel to read about his own species and not cringe at the false mythology.

"Thank God," he muttered finally, killing off his last beer.

"Hmm," Spike asked, chugging the rest of his.

"Past sunset," Angel told him. "Thank God. This was fun and all, but a guy can only take so much nerdiness bottled in one room."

Spike glanced at him speculatively before finally asking, "Does that mean you're leaving?"

"Oh Hell yes," Angel said, retrieving his wallet to pay for his drinks.

"Wait here," Spike told him, running toward the stairs.

As Angel waited for the blond, he watched the LARPers sit down near him. There was something strange about them. Although they didn't fit Angel's vision of the beloved characters, there was something unique about them that called to him.

For a moment, Angel considered speaking to them. In fact, at one point, he went as far as opening his mouth. But words were lost to him. Besides, they were just LARPers anyway. It's not like he had been trying to speak to the _real_ Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean were fictional characters. He fully understood that fictional characters were just that: fictional. He had no delusions about them existing.

Spike returned during Angel's third, unexplainable attempt to communicate with the LARPers.

His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at Angel.

"Something wrong?"

Angel noticed the bag around his shoulder.

"No."

"Good. I mean, damn, because I love it when things go wrong for you. But… never mind," he muttered, shaking his head in embarrassment at his lame insult.

"No. I mean, no way I am driving you home."

"Bloody hell, Angel. Don't get your panties in a bunch. It's just one ride."

Angel stormed off toward the door, hoping to escape his aggravation.

"You'll annoy me to death."

"Beats being beaten with a bloody spoon," Spike countered, attempting his oh-so-charming smile as they left through the double-doors.

Angel groaned. Not that the smile remotely worked on him. But he knew the rest of his group would mock him relentlessly if he left Spike behind. Because then Spike would want revenge. He'd tell about meeting Angel at the convention. Angel's reputation would be ruined!

"Fine, but we tell of this weekend to no one."

Spike grinned, as he pulled himself into the Impala.

"It'll be like we were never even here."

End

Reviews are appreciated. :)

Flamers are not (constructive criticism, yes. "You and your story suck" not so much).


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